


Just Another Subject

by Taro



Series: Subject 89P13 [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Experiments, Gen, Hurt!rocket, Hurt/Comfort, Rocket is messed up, Rocket's past, Well basically just hurt, basically my half-assed attempt at writing what they did to Rocket, bc feels, gotg - Freeform, groot is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taro/pseuds/Taro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mind of a god was bombarded into his little brain one day. It was normal. </p><p>Perfectly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Subject

**Author's Note:**

> So as soon as I saw the scars and the _things_ that Rocket has on his back and chest, and his little drunk outburst, I couldn't help but think about this.
> 
> I didn't really think this one through, it's just a headcanon I had to put down on paper.

"...sorry but we needed his intelligence first!"

"...nothing he can do about it now..."

"The morphine..."

"...could see his reactions better if we just..."

The little animal strapped to the table began to wake up slowly. His eyes took long to open, but he was tired. As if he had just been born, rather than waking up. 

But... Was he even sure that he wasn't being born..?

"...see if the language software already..."

"...can't be sure."

The animal's big ears stung from the sounds. Clanking and drilling coming from different areas around him, some farther than others, but sounded far away and underwater. 

Later came the sounds that living things make when they are _dying._

He began to panic. He tried to lift his paws, but soon realized he was being held down by metal straps. Opening his eyes fully, he saw that the skin under his bounds was raw and bloody. How long had he been fighting these straps? Had he woken up before but couldn't remember it now? And _since when did he have such coherent thoughts?_

"It's awake. Try it now before he..."

More sounds that hurt his sensitive eardrums. Even though everything sounded as if his ears were stuffed with cotton, it still made him flinch.

"Subject 89P13."

This statement was louder than anything else, and he flinched harder, making his bounds dig deeper in his skin. 

Were they talking to him?

And since when did he understand any kind of spoken language?

_What is happening to me?!_

"Subject 89P13, do you understand me?" The voices said, clearer and louder.

He groaned. 

But he sounded more _sapiens_ than animal.

•

He was shivering. 

It was cold. 

And smelled like caked blood. Or maybe too much metal around him. 

Had he know that he would go from a toddler to an adult in human terms of thought with the help of a single surgery, a mere subtle change in his DNA composition, in less than a day? 

Why, of course! Who wouldn't? It was obvious. 

He remembers being a dumb _something,_ he only thought of eating and defecating all day—defecating? Really? Where did that word come from?

And now he could think. All the new thoughts, the understanding, the processes of what surrounded him. 

It was _too much._

He screamed again. Began to rattle the bars of his miniature cage. _I need out, now._

His movement startled other subjects, other _experiments_ like him. 

This was...

What is life?

At least he know what he is. He's just another subject, another dirty little secret, another failed experiment. 

Through the bars, if he squeezed against them, he could get his entire front legs through. They weren't long, but they were skinny. He could reach out to the subjects next door. To his right—another new term, _when the hell did I learn this... Is it just common sense and I'm supposed to know now?_ —there lay a blob of purple and skin-pink, breathing raggedly, unmoving. It looked in pain. 

Survival probs? None.

It looked like a mixture of the head of an octopus with limbs of a bat—lacking the bat wings.

The sounds it sometimes made were of perpetual pain, as if it was used to it, but couldn't quite _get used to it._

The following week, it would start to grow yellow bulbs, some would pop and a yellowy substance would ooze out, or blood. Ten days later, it would die in a fit of agony, and be taken away. 

To his left, he had a human. Scrawny and with huge eyes, but looked very normal to him. Except for the massive white-and-brown bird wings protruding from her back. Short, dirty blonde hair and an explosive way of reacting to the fuckers that kept them here—whitecoats, he had heard her call then once—he admired her. 

The subjects weren't allowed to talk. But they still did. 

It was nice.

Until one day she simply wasn't in her cage anymore.

•

He has mental breakdowns. Of course he does. 

The mind of a god was bombarded into his little brain one day. It's normal. 

Perfectly. 

His paws were bloody and his fangs hurt from clawing and biting the cage. 

Sometime that week, the whitecoats would take him to surgery and open his clavicle in half. They would enhance his lung capacity, so 89P13 would be able to take breaths like a sapiens, not short, useless ones like an animal. 

They would cut open his back, play with his spine so that he could stand up more often, and crawl like vermin less. 

It wasn't that bad, if we take out the fact that somehow there wasn't enough skin to close up the wounds. 

The whitecoats ideated a system though, that would keep the rabid animal under control and would keep his insides _in._

Shock panels in his chest, back, and nape. 

Every time the stupid fucking animal would try to attack them, with a simple press of a button, a flashing bolt of electricity would rack his entire body, leaving him a heap of twitches and moans. Easier to handle. 

• 

He had tried to claw them out. 

Having flesh wounds was better than being shocked into unconsciousness every time the whitecoats thought he was being bad.

But every time he even dared to touch the panels in a threatening way, they would do their work and he would wake up the next day, sore all over, over a puddle of drool and blood.

He guessed it was cameras somewhere. Or a sensor in the panels. 

He could dismantle the cameras. If he could get out. Maybe if he didn't attack anyone on the way to an experiment he could bite them... And maybe...

He was startled enough to jolt back and press up to the bars behind him. He closed his eyes, his head hurt, but he needed to keep going, needed it to keep flowing. 

_There's a set of fourteen cables in each camera. I can see them now. The R cables send info, the S cables take info, and the remaining four keep it together._

He knew all this. How? No idea. 

A glitch in his brain maybe? Or did the whitecoats want this? 

More likely the former.

_There's a G-20 chip in every door, I know how they work, it has to be a G-20, keeping them locked from a main panel somewhere, probably a computer. There has to be a weapons room. He could use one G-20 with a few modified R cables so he can open it up. Take some guns and..._

Is that a plan?

Oh hell fucking yeah it's a goddamn plan.

•

"Rocket, I think that's enough bombs for now," Quill said from somewhere behind him. 

They were passing through a dense cluster of stars. It was hot. Rocket's jumpsuit was open in his chest, to freshen his stomach.

"Oh this pile? They're not bombs, they're just grenades, calm down," The raccoon—he knew now that that was what he was—replied, bored, not lifting his eyes from the tear-gas shell he was making. 

An exhasperated sigh from Peter. A choked laugh from Rocket. 

"You scare me."

"I'm just passing the time," Rocket said in a sing-song voice and turned around to smirk at Quill. 

Quill was shirtless, and sweating. _Haha, dumb humans._ He sent Rocket a bitchface, but Rocket didn't miss the slight shift in Quill's gaze, the down movement his eyes did in a millisecond.

Oh _fuck,_ his jumpsuit was open. 

Ashamed, he turned back around, so Quill couldn't see his horrible bare chest anymore.

A pause. Then, footsteps going away.

When he was sure Quill was gone, he looked up at Groot. He had now grown enough to crawl out of his pot, and was just a tad smaller than Rocket.

And of course Groot could see his scars. He was the only one allowed to. Not that Rocket wasn't still embarrased, but Groot had seen them thousands of times, so what the hell.

"What'ya looking at?" Rocket lowered his eyes again, working on another shell.

Groot groaned, sounding sad.

"What?" Rocket stopped what he was doing, annoyed. 

Groot groaned louder. He hadn't said his usual phrase yet. Maybe he would later on, when he had grown more. 

"I _am_ just passing the time!"

Groot huffed. _That's not what I mean._

"Well then I don't know what you're talking about," Rocket raised his eyebrows, trying to focus on the damn grenade in his hands.

Along came another groan slash whine from tiny Groot, who scooted closer. _They need to know._

Rocket dropped the grenade, "No they don't!"

Silence. 

Groot looked as if he had given up. He sat back in his pot with a deep breath, but kept looking at his friend. 

"Oh, don't give me that look!" Rocket was getting loud. Groot could be annoying. 

"You know why I don't tell anyone. I don't even know why I told you in the first place!"

 _You trust me._ It was implied. _You can trust them._

"That's not the point, and you know it."

_But you can't keep that from them forever!_

"Well maybe I can!" Rocket yelled. He really hoped the rest were too far into the Milano to listen to this conversation, "Maybe I want to, and maybe I will."

_It's not healthy—_

"Do you think I care if it is or not?! I can't!"

More silence. 

_Promise me you'll tell them one day. They're our friends, your friends, now. They have the right to know. They can help._

Rocket smiled sarcastically, but actually came out as a pained grimace. Oh, Groot... No one can help. 

"Alright I promise. Can I work now?"

Groot didn't seem pleased, but still nodded.

Rocket sighed and picked up the half-done grenade again.

**Author's Note:**

> Did someone notice the subtle crossover I did? Huh? I will love you forever if you recognize the other fandom.
> 
> Didn't really like the ending, but what can I say.


End file.
